


No Homo

by Kirito_Potter



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostate Massage, Semi-Public Sex, Watford (Simon Snow)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 14:41:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18919075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirito_Potter/pseuds/Kirito_Potter
Summary: “Could you help me find my prostate?”Yet again, my mouth is hanging open.Immediately, he goes red, shaking his head even faster. “No, I knew that was a dumb idea. I'm sorry. I'll-- I'll just put on my pants. That was stupid, stupid--”





	No Homo

**BAZ**

  
  


“Snow, what the hell is wrong with you?”

 

He jumps, turning to look at me. “Wh-- what do you mean?”

 

“I mean you're walking like you've got a bowling ball between your legs,” I huff, waving a hand in his direction where he's been waddling around his side of the room.

 

He goes red, shaking his head frantically. “N-no I'm not!”

 

“There's no use lying to me,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “You've been making that little face-- the pained one, like when you get a paper cut and make a whole soap opera out of it.”

 

His mouth flaps open and closed, but no sound comes out.

 

“Well?” I ask. “Did you do the splits or something? What nerve did you pull?”

 

He swallows in that stupidly showy way. “I-- I haven't hurt myself.”

 

I put my book down to grab my wand off the bed beside me. “ **Get well soon.** ”

 

The way his shoulders slump is obvious. “Merlin, that's a little better, innit?”

 

I roll my eyes. “You should see the nurse, Snow. I don't know what you did to yourself, but a get well soon probably isn't enough to fix you if you're making such a big deal out of it.”

 

He pouts. “I'm fine. I was just a little achy, but I'm better now.”

 

He tries to take another step and winces.

 

“Snow,” I growl. “I will not have you die from some minor injury just because you're too prideful to ask for help.”

 

He won't meet my gaze, staring pointedly at the floor.

I sigh. “Just tell me what you did.”

 

He blushes even harder. “I… can't do that. It's too embarrassing.”

 

“I promise not to blackmail you,” I hiss. “Just tell me what happened.”

 

His fingers tangle through his hair (a nervous tic) and he whines, “It's not about the blackmail. I just can't even imagine telling you.”

 

“What could possibly be so embarrassing?”

 

Chewing on his bottom lip, he glances up at me. “Well… for one thing, it happened last night, when you were asleep.”

 

Immediately, I'm on red alert. “Okay, now you  _ have _ to tell me. This is my room just as much as it's yours, and I have a right to know what goes on in here.”

 

His pout intensifies. “I… Merlin, what do you want me to say?”

 

“The truth.”

 

He hesitates for a moment, rocking on the balls of his feet. Taking a deep breath, he meets my eyes.

 

“I fingered myself, okay?”

 

I really can't be blamed for the way my jaw drops.

 

“And-- and I've never done that before, and… I guess I was a bit rough.” He tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth. “It hurts. Like, even sitting down. I'm kind of worried I scratched myself or something.”

 

It takes me several moments to gather my thoughts, much less put them into words. “You… fingered yourself? As in--”

 

“As in my bum,” he says, flushing again. “I was just… experimenting. Figured it was harmless-- you were asleep, anyhow. Seemed like a good time.”

 

My mind swims with the knowledge that Simon Snow touched himself while I was in the room.

 

“I know it's weird,” he sighs. “But I know some straight guys like it, and I've heard all this stuff about the prostate, and I thought it would be fun.” He rolls his eyes. “It was pretty terrible, actually. I had no idea what I was doing. And now it hurts like hell…”

 

Right. He's hurt. That's concerning, to say the least.

 

“You should go to the nurse,” I say again.

 

He goes even redder than before, and I'm left to wonder just how much blood is in his body. “Are you insane? I can't go to the nurse like this! What would I say?”

 

“You don't understand,” I sigh. “You could be bleeding, Snow.”

 

In sharp contrast to his previous shade of scarlet, he suddenly goes very pale. I can’t imagine how light headed he must be. “Bleeding?”

 

“You just said you might have scratched yourself,” I remind him. “And if not that, you could have torn a muscle, or anything just as dangerous.”

 

He looks like he might faint.

 

“I…” he starts, eyes wide. “I don't know if I can just go to the nurse and ask if my arse is hurt. I mean, what if I'm fine? That's even more embarrassing, I think.”

 

“Well then what do you suggest? That you walk around possibly injured?”

 

He thinks this over, biting his lip. “I don't really see a better option.”

 

“You're a moron,” I growl. I say the next part without thinking. “At least let me look at it.”

 

He stiffens, gaping at me. “Wh--”

 

I realise what I've said and desperately try to backtrack. “Um, if you're okay with that. It might be better if I just make sure you're not hurt. But you don't have to, obviously.”

 

He doesn't say anything for a minute, just stares at me. Then, “Okay.”

 

I'm not sure how to respond to that. “Okay?”

 

He nods hesitantly. “Promise not to kill me?”

 

“Snow, when I kill you it'll be much more dignified than tearing your arsehole.”

 

Flushing, he sits on his bed, folding his hands in his lap. “Um… then… how should we…”

 

Right. This is happening, then.

 

Hesitantly, I stand from my bed and walk closer. He gives me a pitiful look, and I think he might cry. He's still got his legs hanging off the edge of the bed, so I pause in front of him.

 

“Is it alright if I kneel?” I ask, feeling a bit of warmth brush my cheeks.

 

He nods again.

 

I settle on the ground in front of him, and we're both just staring at each other now.

 

“Well…” I start, “You should probably take your trousers off.” I frown. “And your pants, I suppose.”

 

He squirms out of his uniform trousers, and I do my best to look away at first when he slides off his briefs too. (I don't want him to think I'm into this.) (I'm not. That would be weird.)

 

He clears his throat, holding a hand over his-- well-- and awkwardly lifts his legs, placing his feet flat on the mattress.

 

“Just relax,” I say, as if I'm not about to spontaneously combust from embarrassment.

 

He flexes his calves, staring at the ceiling like he's just noticed something supremely interesting.

 

“Um… I'm just going to…” I try to focus. “I'm going to… hold you open. So I can get a good look.”

 

He sits perfectly still, not even breathing.

 

I take a moment to ready myself, and then I've got my hands on his arse, pulling his cheeks apart. He makes a little noise, eyes squeezing shut.

 

“Relax,” I repeat, as if it'll actually help.

 

Slowly, the clench of his muscles loosens, and he shifts on the bed, spreading his legs a little more.

 

“Does… does it look okay?” He asks, sounding strained.

 

“I'm not sure,” I murmur. “Just… try to stay calm.”

 

Gently, I pull him open a bit more. Now that he's not panicking, I can actually see a bit.

 

“I don't see any blood,” I say, and he sighs in relief. “A little red, but I think you're more irritated than anything.”

 

He pumps his fist in the air in mock victory. “Thank magic.”

 

I frown. “Why did you think you scratched yourself, then?”

 

“My nails were getting in the way,” he groans, showing my his hands.

 

I wince when I see his blunt, much too long nails. “Crowley. Those are practically claws. You're lucky you didn't cut yourself.”

 

He shrugs. “Well, I didn't.”

 

“You really should cut your nails before you put your fingers in any holes,” I scold.

 

“Noted,” he sighs.

 

“Was that the only issue?” I ask, letting go of him.

 

He shakes his head, pressing his thighs together. “Too much too fast.” He snorts. “And it was all for nothing, anyhow-- didn't even find my bloody prostate.”

 

“Really?”

 

Shrugging, he mumbles, “It was just painful and uncomfortable.”

 

“You probably didn't miss out on much,” I assure him. “I mean, finding your prostate feels good, but not mind blowing or anything, in my humble opinion.”

 

His eyes are wide, and I realise that maybe I shouldn't have said that.

 

“You've…?”

 

I swallow. “Uh-- once. Experimenting, like you said.”

 

He mulls this over, working his jaw, and my heart pounds.

 

“Could you…” He frowns, brushing his hair from his eyes. “Nevermind.”

 

“Wait,” I say, surprising myself. “What is it?”

 

He glances to me, then away. “Um…” He scratches at his collarbone, eyebrows scrunched together. “Could…”

 

I squirm on my knees, nails digging into my calves.

 

“Could you help me find my prostate?”

 

Yet again, my mouth is hanging open.

 

Immediately, he goes red, shaking his head even faster. “No, I knew that was a dumb idea. I'm sorry. I'll-- I'll just put on my pants. That was stupid, stupid--”

 

“No,” I say. “It's not stupid.”

 

He hides his face in his hands, but his ears give away how hard he's still blushing.

 

“I mean…” I'm not sure what to say.

 

“You don't have to,” he squeaks. “I'm an idiot.”

 

“I'm not going to argue with that,” I say, mostly to lighten the mood. It doesn't help. “But… if you do want me to-- to, um…”

 

He peeks between his fingers.

 

“I'll help, if you meant it.” Merlin, what else would I even say? My crush is literally asking me to finger him. It's a bit backwards-- I figured we'd have kissed before this point-- but there's no way I'm turning down this opportunity.

 

He licks his lips, but I don't think it's meant to be seductive. Just nervous. “I… would appreciate that.”

 

Is this a dream? A really weird dream?

 

“Do you… want to stay like this? Or, um, you could lie down?” I'm an absolute numpty.

 

“I… I could just sit here,” he says quietly. “If I need to… switch positions… I'll let you know.” He couldn't be any redder if I covered his face in paint.

 

“Ah… right.”  _ Pull yourself together, Baz, you sound like such a virgin. _ “Where's your--” I choke on the word. “Your… lube?”

 

He worries his bottom lip with his teeth again. “Isn't there a spell for that? I mean-- I mean I have some, because magic knows I'm scared to cast spells that aren't life-or-death, but as long as you're the one-- uh--”

 

“Believe it or not, Snow, it's widely agreed upon that using actual lube is much better than spelling some on,” I inform him, trying to sound like I'm not ready to die on the spot.

 

He reaches past me and pulls open his bedside drawer. I'm mortified to see that he hasn't even tried to hide the bottle-- it's just there, for anyone to see, strewn among classwork and hair clips. His hands shake a little when he presses the bottle into my grip.

 

I pop open the cap, and the sound of it seems to echo in my mind. I squirt a dollop onto my index finger, about the size of a quarter.

 

“Woah, hey!” Snow yelps, surprising me. “Isn't that a lot? There's no need to waste it.”

 

My eyebrows shoot up. “Firstly, it's always better to have too much lube than not enough. Secondly, how is this too much?”

 

He looks taken aback. “I mean…”

 

I give him a disapproving look. “How much did you use last night?”

 

He squints at my finger. “I dunno… like half of that.”

 

“Merlin and Morgana,” I hiss. “No wonder it hurt, you knobhead.”

 

He pouts again. “What is that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means you probably had an unbearable amount of friction,” I groan. “I can't even imagine how painful that must have been, especially with those claws on the ends of your fingers.”

 

“So it's my fault my arse is sore?” He grumbles. “How was I supposed to know that?”

 

I roll my eyes. (At least this feels a little more normal-- the banter, the arguing and calling each other names. Ironically, we both seem much more relaxed now.)

 

I rub the lube between my thumb and forefinger, spreading it over to middle finger as well. Just in case, I add a bit more, giving him a pointed look as I do it.

 

“Alright,” I say, and we tense again. “We can start slow, just… spread your legs.”

 

He takes a deep breath and slides his thighs open. He tries to cover his dick again, so I play along and keep my eyes focused lower.

 

I slide a finger up his thigh, and he shivers.

 

“What are you…”

 

“I'm trying to help you get in the mood.”

 

He flushes yet again, and I don't miss the slight twitch under his hand.

 

Slowly, I move my finger up higher, pressing lightly just beside his rim. His shoulders are drawn up, and his thighs are tight under my hand. I start to rub small circles into his skin, hoping it'll get him to relax. At first, it has the opposite reaction, and he clenches his jaw. But after a few moments, he starts to fall apart, tension melting under my touch. I start to move my fingers to the side little by little, until I'm gently circling his rim. His breaths come out in little content puffs, and his head lolls to the side, resting on his shoulder.

 

There's no way this is happening.

 

I reach up with my other hand and squeeze his hip. It's dangerous, but he doesn't complain.

 

“Is this okay?” I ask, just in case.

 

He nods a little, opening his eyes a bit to look at me.

 

I'm so wrecked for him.

 

“Do you think you're ready?”

 

He licks his lips again. “I… yeah.”

 

Carefully, I press my index finger to his hole. I don't push in yet, just put pressure there. He shudders, eyelashes fluttering. I rub back and forth over the spot, feeling the pucker against the pad of my finger. Then, as slowly as I can manage, I slip my finger into him.

  
  


**SIMON**

  
  


Oh.

 

Is this how it was supposed to feel? Not intrusive and too big and too rough, but a smooth slide that makes my insides feel all melty and soft?

 

I mean, it doesn't feel  _ good, _ not in the way I was expecting. It doesn't make me want to moan or jerk my hips or throw my head back, like how wanking feels good. But it's kind of intoxicating-- and it's definitely better than the scratchy feeling last night.

 

Any pain or soreness I felt before is being pushed right out of me by his finger, massaging back and forth.

 

It’s kind of cold, but I don't actually mind. It just makes me more aware of how hot my insides are, burning in comparison. More noticeable is the fact that his fingers are so long. When I was doing this, I felt like my fingers were stubby and awkward, but his finger moves fluidly and pushes much farther than I had managed.

 

Combined with the nearly excessive amount of lube sliding around, it's all sort of lewd. Not pleasurable, but arousing all the same just by the very nature of it.

  
  


**BAZ**

  
  


He's quiet, but not upset. His expression keeps twitching, then falling slack again. Every time I crook my finger against his walls, he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. His face is flushed, his breathing laboured. He's gorgeous.

 

I move slowly, pulling my finger nearly all the way out before sliding it in again. He's pliant and slippery from the lube, and I can't help the tightness in my trousers.

 

There's a little squelch when I push particularly fast, and the sound makes me want to… well, I'm not even sure what. Kiss him? Fuck him? It's sexy, either way.

 

I try to push farther with every thrust, moving deeper inside. He clenches around me, making a soft noise, and I slow down even more, giving him time to adjust to the extra stretch. Then I push as far as I can go, feeling the strain on the skin between my index and middle fingers. The tip of the digit just barely brushes against something.

 

Snow gasps, his whole body spasming, and clenches down hard, like he's trying to pull me back to that spot-- to his prostate.

 

“Oh my god,” he whimpers. “Just-- please, just--”

 

I press in again, but it's just out of reach. The most I can do is graze against the spot. Snow lets out a frustrated whine, which shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. He bucks his hips against my palm, but it just causes my finger to skim over his prostate and slip back again.

 

“Please,” he groans. “Fuck, I need…”

 

Merlin, he’s actually begging for it.

 

“Just...  _ please, _ Baz!”

 

Crowley, he can’t moan my name like that and not expect me to get hard. I try to be subtle when I let myself thrust against the mattress.

 

I grab his hip again, glancing up to meet his eyes. “Just give me a second, okay?”

 

He nods frantically, chest heaving.

 

I pull out, and he whimpers, lips trembling. Then, carefully, I press two fingers to his hole.

 

He squirms against the stretch, but he doesn’t ask me to stop, just pants and shakes. To my surprise, he drops his hand from where he’s been covering himself, spreading his cheeks further to help me. I’m momentarily distracted by his cock, bobbing hard against his stomach. Precum is already leaking down the shaft, and it takes all my willpower not to lean forward and lick it off.

 

I rut against the mattress again, shuddering at the friction, and try to focus on pushing my fingers deeper. He whines, hips twitching forward.

 

“Baz…”

 

I bite back a moan.

 

Finally, I press my fingers properly to the tight bundle of nerves.

 

Snow lets out an impossibly loud moan.

 

I pull my fingers back quickly, a little panicked. Snow’s eyebrows pull down, and he sticks out his bottom lip. “What the hell, Baz? It finally felt good!”

 

I shake my head. “Sorry, I just-- you know I haven’t cast a silencing spell, right?”

 

His face is red again. “Oh. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s fine,” I murmur. “Just… try to keep it down if you can.”

 

He nods weakly, looking embarrassed. “Yeah. I can do that.”

 

I press forward again, holding my fingers down against his prostate. His eyes roll back in his head, and his thighs shake. He manages to keep himself from making too much noise, just squeaks a bit.

  
  


**SIMON**

  
  


There's no way I can keep quiet, not like this. Every prod of his fingers makes my stomach feel like a white hot star collapsing in on itself.

 

I work my hips a bit, rocking on his fingers. It's embarrassingly eager, and I probably look like a total slut, but I can't be bothered to worry about it right now. Not when he's digging into my prostate so well. I can't help but chase that feeling, following every motion of his fingers in hopes to feel them pressed there a little longer.

 

I can barely remember my own bloody name because all I can think of is the pressure building, both on my sweet spot and in my lower stomach, coiling like a threat. I could spill all over myself right now if I really wanted to. But then he'd probably stop touching me like this. I don't want him to stop.

  
  


**BAZ**

  
  


I start rubbing hard circles against his prostate, and he throws his head back, toes curling.

 

“Fuuuck…”

 

It’s quieter, at least, but just as tempting. I have no control left, so I give in and let myself grind against the side of the mattress in time with each loop of my fingers. If he notices, he doesn't let on.

 

Before I can register what he's doing, he lifts his hand again, wrapping it around his leaking cock. He starts to whine but cuts himself off, trembling. Then he's stroking himself as I continue my ministrations, his face red and pinched. I start to slow down, and he fumbles to match my pace, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

I let up a bit, removing some of the pressure on his prostate, and he grunts in complaint, fingers shaking on the head of his cock. Only a second later, I press back down with crushing force.

 

Snow keens, eyelashes twitching frantically as the cry fills the room.

 

I stop and pull my fingers free, and he groans, pouting. I reach behind him and grab one of his pillows, shoving it into his hands. “Here. Bite down on this. Then you don't have to focus on staying quiet.”

 

He looks relieved. “Perfect.” Still breathing hard, he adds, “And do you mind if I lie down?”

 

I nod, and he shudders, arranging himself on the bed. He lays his head on the second pillow and stuffs the first between his teeth, legs spread wide. I have to collect myself before I can climb onto the bed and seat myself between his thighs.

 

I pick back up where I stopped, pressing my fingers back inside. He takes them easily, hole twitching. He groans into the pillow, even before I reach his prostate. And when I do hit that sweet spot, he goes wild, back arching deliciously as he lets out muffled moans.

 

I'm still rock hard, especially seeing him like this, and I quickly find a rhythm against the bed again. This time, the bed squeaks a little when I thrust, and if Snow hadn't noticed before, he certainly will now. I almost don't care.

 

I dig never-ending circles into his prostate, watching his face contort in pleasure over and over. His moans start sounding more like screams, and his whole body spasms every now and then, all trembling, shivering muscles. His grip on his cock is getting looser and looser, eventually slipping right off when he strokes a little too fast. He flushes darker, scrambling to move his hand back over it, but his fingers are twitching too much. Defeated, he digs his fingers into the pillow in his mouth, giving up on trying to accompany my motions on his cock.

 

He lays beneath me, a shivering wreck, and twitches his hips frantically into my palm. The little noises he's making are beyond sinful, only making me rut harder against the bed. I can feel the arousal in my abdomen, where it shines and sparks like a live wire. I have no idea how much longer it'll be until I lose myself to the pleasure, but it'll only be even more humiliating if it happens before I've finished him off. I take deep breaths and try my best to hold on.

 

I squeeze his hip, but as much as he's shaking and keening, he doesn't seem any closer to orgasm. Carefully, I slide my hand over, keeping pace with the other, and take his cock in my hand. He tenses, eyes flying open, and I hesitate.

 

“Fuck,” I mumble. “I-- I should have asked--”

 

He bucks up into my hand, flushing, and looks up at me with half-lidded eyes.

 

Oh.

 

I go back to circling his prostate, but start moving my hand down his shaft as well. He moans, closing his eyes again. His cock jumps in my hand when I press against his sweet spot. I'm not sure how any of this is really happening, but clearly, he's enjoying himself. Seeing him so excited makes my cock twitch frantically in my trousers, and I grind harder against the bed.

 

I make slow strokes with one hand, teasing him a bit, and quick tiny circles with the other. Soon, tears are streaming down his cheeks, but they're tears of pleasure judging by how he whines into the pillow. He can't seem to decide whether to thrust up into my fist or grind back onto my fingers, and his eyebrows pull together in frustration.

 

He makes a pitiful whimper, legs shaking, and spreads his legs as wide as he can, stilling his hips.

 

I move my hand up his shaft just as I press particularly hard into his prostate, and he gasps, muscles tensing. He's just on the edge, quivering and whining, waiting for me to finish him off. I pull my fingers back a bit, squeezing the head of his cock, and he lets out a puff of air, positively trembling. I press hard against his prostate again.

 

Simon spills over my hand, screaming into the pillow. I watch in awe as his nose scrunches and his shoulders hitch, like he's trying to curl up into a ball. He's beautiful.

 

I'm actually surprised when my orgasm hits me-- it crashes over me suddenly, like being struck by lightning, and then my hips are stuttering against the mattress as I work myself through it. My whole body feels like it's been dunked in ice water.

 

When my cock finishes twitching in my pants, I shudder and let go of Snow's cock. Slowly, I pull my fingers out, still slippery with lube. He's laying flat on the bed, panting. He has the pillow clutched to his chest like a lifeline.

 

For a moment, neither of us speaks, still basking in the afterglow.

 

Then, quietly, Snow breathes, “That was well gay, wasn't it?”

 

I don't know what to say. He's not wrong.

 

He laughs. “I mean, that was the hardest I think I've ever come, so maybe I'm a bit gay.”

 

I swallow hard. “You think?”

 

He sits up a bit, leaning on one elbow, and gives me a look. “I mean, you sure got off on it.” He grins devilishly. “Came in your trousers, did you?”

 

I feel a bit of heat rushing to my face. “Ah… well…”

 

He covers his mouth with the pillow, shoulders shaking with giggles. “Merlin, Baz. I could have gotten you off too, if you just asked.”

 

The thought makes my spine tingle. “Really?”

 

Putting the pillow in his lap, he tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth again. “Really.” He glances away. “I guess I am a bit gay.” His smile is blinding. “If being gay means orgasms like that all the time, I'm not complaining.”

 

I hesitate. “So… so you're not mad that I got off on that?”

 

He shakes his head. “It was kind of hot to know I was turning you on.” He flushes for the umpteenth time. “Merlin, that definitely sounded gay.”

 

“Yeah. A little bit.” I raise an eyebrow, smiling widely.

 

He pushes his hair back from his sweaty forehead, laughing again. “Maybe I could be gay with you again sometime.”

 

“I'd like that.”


End file.
